


You Run My Mind Boy

by andwhatyousaid



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hook-Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andwhatyousaid/pseuds/andwhatyousaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's only learned Liam's name a handful of minutes before they stumble into the loo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Run My Mind Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Uni AU excerpt. This is an accident that's all [Becca](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fallfreely)'s fault, but she's a gem who gave this a read-through, so bless her anyway. Have this [slap-dash vaguely associative](http://andwhatyousaid.tumblr.com/post/65760050005) collection of pictures to browse. Title credit goes to Frank Ocean's "Forrest Gump." Thank you for reading! Good luck. Disclaimer: Entirely fiction.

Harry’s only learned Liam’s name a handful of minutes before they stumble into the loo. Harry isn’t particularly worried about someone interrupting them — they’re on the massive library’s continuously deserted fifth floor, the men’s room is empty when they walk in — but Liam pulls back from sucking on Harry’s tongue, slick and dirty, to push him up against the stall door and in they fall.

The door swings shut behind them with a clatter, and they don’t bother flipping the lock; Harry’s too busy seeking Liam’s mouth for another kiss, opening right up, eager to feel the scrape and sting of Liam’s stubble against Harry’s cheek and chin, eager for the warm wet heat, fisting his hands in Liam’s fitted jersey at his waist, reeling him in.

Liam grins into Harry’s mouth, huffing a low laugh, and backs him up against the wall next to the toilet instead, biting at Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry goes easily, his shoulders smacking into the wall, his hips pushing up and away so that his back arches. He doesn’t mean to be so easy for it, but he can’t regret anything when Liam’s thigh slots between his and Harry gets a taste of the soft warm friction from his joggers. He groans into Liam’s mouth at the contact.  

Liam kisses him long and slow, and then pulls back with a wet noise and says, “Fuck, you’ve got a nice mouth,” his voice rough, his eyes lowered and dark. He’s staring at Harry’s lips, so Harry wets them slowly, lets his tongue linger. Liam makes a noise in his throat, bitten off, like he can’t stand it, and surges forward for another kiss, fucking his tongue into Harry’s mouth hard, his hand fisting in Harry’s flannel at his hip, twisting the fabric so tight that Harry can feel the pull at his shoulders.

Harry says into Liam’s mouth, gasping a bit, “Not so bad yourself,” because he may not know Liam all that well yet, but the sight of his flushed swollen mouth is better than Harry had imagined while sat across from him in the study room they were sharing, trying to keep from glancing up between every other word he was meant to be reading.  

Liam makes another delighted sound against him, close to a laugh, Harry can almost taste it, before Liam's hands slide from Harry’s hips to his flies and pop open the button. Liam kisses along Harry’s jaw up to his ear and tells him in a whisper, his mouth brushing Harry's skin, “Just you wait.”

Harry bangs his head back against the wall to keep from letting loose the sudden noise that rises up from his throat, opting to raise his eyebrows at Liam instead, urging him on, a grin crooking around his mouth.  

Liam raises his eyebrows in return, accepting the challenge, grinning too, and soon Harry’s tight skinny jeans and boxer-briefs are pooling around his knees and Liam’s wrapping his hand around Harry’s thickening cock, stroking slowly, appreciatively.

“Mate,” Liam says, half-moaning, looking down at Harry's prick in his hand, squeezing. “You’ve a really nice cock.”

"Yeah," Harry says, stringing the word out. "Yeah, thanks." He knows, he’s been told before, but it’s always nice to hear again. From eying the tent at the front of Liam's joggers, it seems like he’s pretty big too, but before Harry can find out for himself, Liam ducks in for another kiss, his snapback sliding further back on his head, and he groans at the same time as Harry when he twists his fist on an up-stroke, thumbing Harry’s slit.

“If I’m honest,” Liam says between kisses, “If I’m honest, I’d really like to get my mouth on you.” He opens his jaw up wider into their kiss and his mouth is so open, so wet that Harry doesn’t know how he’d refuse even if he wanted to.

Which he absolutely does not, so he’s quick to get a hand on the back of Liam’s neck, slide his fingers through the short fuzzy hairs there at the nape, press down a little, and say, “If I’m honest, I think that’s a brilliant plan, bro.”

Liam gives him a low breathy laugh, and then drops to his knees. He unbuttons the bottom of Harry’s oversized flannel to kiss down from Harry’s belly-button, his happy-trail. Liam’s mouth is soft and warm like the hand he's got wanking Harry's cock loosely, but the brim of Liam's snapback blocks Harry’s view, bumps into his stomach. Before Harry can complain, Liam’s twisting the brim around to sit backwards on his head, shooting a grin up at Harry.

“Nice tat,” Liam says, tracing his mouth and tongue along the _Might as well_ at Harry’s hip. He bites and Harry sucks in a sharp breath.

“Thanks,” Harry says, curious about the ones he’s spied trailing around Liam’s forearm, wanting to return the compliment; he’s distracted by Liam biting his lip next as he focuses his attention on Harry’s cock, Harry can see now, and then Liam reaches down to squeeze himself through his joggers.

“I wasn’t lying, mate,” Liam says, ducking closer so that he's speaking directly into the base of Harry’s cock. “It’s quite lovely.” He drags the flat of his tongue slowly up Harry’s length, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, his shoulder rolling from where he must be pressing down on his own dick and Harry can’t keep the noise in this time.

Liam laps at the head, tasting, his eyelashes fluttering, his fist stilling around Harry, keeping him angled towards his face, and then Liam takes the head into his mouth, sucking, careful with his teeth. Harry groans straight away, and it echoes around the empty stall, around in his head along with his pulse thumping low in his belly. Liam’s mouth looks so good stretched like that, pink and slick, and it feels even better, just as warm and wet as he was against Harry’s own mouth. He’s got this look on his face too, serene and peaceful, as if this is exactly what he wants to be doing, and Harry wonders fleetingly how many times Liam has before.

Harry asks, “You like sucking my cock?”

Liam groans — Harry can feel the muffled vibration right down to his soles — and Liam’s mouth sinks further down, feeding Harry’s cock to himself with his hand, swallowing. Harry bites his lip hard thinking about how deep Liam might take him, thinking about how he’d had to sit still and watch Liam touch his own jaw and chin, brushing at his beard around his lips with his fingertips as he’d worked through his composition piece in the study room, and Harry says, “You’ve such a pretty mouth, haven’t you, fuck,” grunting when Liam takes him in even further, the opening of his throat fluttering around the head of Harry’s cock.

Liam starts up a rhythm between his hand and mouth, and it shoots right down Harry’s spine, the reverb of Liam’s cut off moans making Harry’s knees want to shake. Liam pulls off after a moment though, and swallows, wiping his wrist across his mouth. “You’re big,” he says, his voice hoarse. Then he groans, shifting on his knees. Harry sees him squeeze his own prick through his joggers before he lets go and holds onto Harry’s hip instead. “Fuck, you’re so big,” Liam says, his face flushing anew.

He dips below to take Harry’s sac into his mouth, sucking loudly, wetly, making Harry groan, and then Liam takes the head of Harry’s cock in again; this time when he sinks deeper, he opens his throat up and Harry slides right in. The pressure’s so tight around Harry’s cock, so hot that he fucks up into it, and Liam’s hands tighten reflexively at his hips, but they loosen almost immediately too, not exactly stopping Harry.

Harry doesn’t know how far he’s allowed to go though; he settles for holding tight to the back of Liam’s neck, his skin hot to the touch, letting Liam swallow around his cock and saying to him, “Bet you’d let me fuck your nice mouth, hmm?”

Liam makes a breathless sharp noise through his nose, his hands tightening again at Harry’s hips. “I’d fuck it so good, bet you’d take it, bet you’d love to,” Harry says lowly, hissing when Liam starts bobbing his head quickly, speeding up, almost frantic.

Harry’s flannel’s sticking to his back with sweat, his pulse hammering. His cock’s throbbing in Liam’s mouth, in his throat, and Harry doesn’t think he’s going to last too long, especially not with Liam’s stubble stinging the insides of his thighs in a harsh burn when he takes Harry deep enough, but Liam gags a little and then pulls off, saliva and precome stringing from his plush bottom lip. He licks it off and glances up at Harry. “You’re really wet,” he says, swallowing, sounding pleased and wrecked already, and it makes Harry want to see him scream.

“Yeah,” Harry tells Liam, guiding Liam’s mouth back to his cock. “Got a nice load for you, gonna let me give it?”

Liam groans at that, muffled by Harry’s cock, and doesn’t hesitate to take him into his throat again. Harry’s so close now from the immediate tight slick heat that he feels delirious, and he can’t help from giving in and riding Liam’s face, just a little. Liam doesn’t seem to mind at all, even when his nose brushes Harry’s pubes — Liam just shoves his joggers off his hips clumsily with one hand and pulls his hard cock out, jerking himself off quick and tight, Harry can hear it above the wet slick sounds of his mouth, and Harry tightens his hand around Liam’s neck, holding him there, saying, “Gonna come right down your fucking throat,” in a growl.

And then Harry does, groaning, his toes curling in his boots, his whole body quivering, feeling himself shoot for what seems like ages into Liam’s mouth. Liam’s loud the whole time he takes it, swallowing, digging his nails into Harry’s hip, his shoulder rolling faster and faster where he’s working his own cock.

He pulls off with a whine at Harry’s urging, and then he’s gasping against Harry’s hip, his face hot and red and sweaty, pushing into Harry’s skin, saying, “God, I love your cock.”

Harry can’t even think yet, but he strokes his fingers at Liam’s neck and manages to say, raspy and breathless, “Gonna cream your pants just thinking about having me in your mouth, yeah?” Liam groans against him, keening, lifts his hand to spit into only to bring it right back to his cock, so Harry goes on, hardly able to believe it as he looks down at Liam squirming, fucking up into his hand: “Look at you, so hard for me, so fucking close just from sucking me off. Don't even have to get my hand on you, do I?”

Liam’s shoulders shake and his nails bite into Harry’s skin so hard it’s painful, it hurts, but his face looks broken open, his eyebrows drawn together tightly, his mouth slack with his moan as he comes over his fist and flat stomach, and Harry doesn’t feel the pain much at all.

After, Harry helps Liam get to his feet, and Liam slumps into the wall, relaxed and easy, his head thrown back and eyes closed, at peace again, so Harry makes to help clean him off too with a handful of balled up toilet paper, saying, “Here, let me,” because as much as he appreciates the view of Liam’s abs and softening dick splattered with come and his jersey screwed up under his armpits, it can’t be very comfortable, and his knees must be sore.

Liam opens his eyes and stills Harry’s hand before he hardly gets started, and says, “It’s alright, it’s fine.” He’s so, so hoarse now — his skin still hot to the touch. Harry looks up into his face and finds his mouth is still swollen, red like it’s been bleeding. His eyes are dark too, and they stay on Harry the whole time Liam reaches down to wipe up his come with his hand, lift his wet fingers to his mouth.

“It’s fine,” Liam says again, and then sucks his long fingers clean, hollowing his cheeks.

“Right,” Harry says, staring. He mentally shakes himself and leans in nearer until he’s close enough to brush the end of Liam’s nose with his, propping himself up with a hand over Liam’s slumped shoulder.

“Like I said, let me help with that,” Harry says. He licks slowly at the second knuckle of Liam’s fingers, then his palm — he tastes sweet like he’s just eaten fruit — and finally up to his mouth, kissing Liam around the tips of his fingers still tucked inside before Liam slides them out between their chins and gives Harry a proper kiss. Harry can taste himself too in Liam’s mouth and it makes him groan weakly, his prick already wanting to twitch at the thought.

Harry pulls back before it becomes too sharp and sensitive, slumps into the wall beside Liam. They’ve both still got their pricks out, but Liam’s smiling soft and relaxed at him, so Harry smiles back and then laughs a little. “Was that alright?” Harry asks, biting at his lip. He wouldn't normally come on quite so strong, but it’d seemed like Liam had wanted it, the way he was —

“Yeah, mate.” Liam says, grinning full on, his teeth showing. “More than alright.”

“Good,” Harry says, his eyes lingering on Liam’s. “Brilliant, yeah, for me too. Sorry I didn’t —”

“Nah, no bro,” Liam says, shaking his head. He shuffles his jersey down his chest lazily and starts to tug his joggers back up to his hips. Harry hadn’t realized Liam’s not wearing any pants underneath. “Nothing to be sorry for, trust me.”

Harry leans in to kiss the corner of Liam’s mouth — maybe in thanks, maybe just because he can’t help from it with the grin Liam keeps showing off like he’s so damn pleased Harry’s made him, his mouth, look like that — and then Harry tucks himself back into his pants and jeans.

When they’re at the sinks, washing their hands, Liam laughs and says, “Could really go for a bloody cig right now.” He ducks down to splash a handful of cold water cupped in his palms over his face, and Harry watches it drip off into the basin.

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking at Liam through the mirror. “Could go for one myself.” He watches Liam’s damp face slacken with surprise, and then Liam’s lifting an eyebrow, dubious, his expression telegraphing _alright mate, it’s your life_ , shrugging. But he holds the door open for Harry too, flashing him a smile while they exit the men’s room together.

They have to walk back through the vacant corridor, and Harry’s boots click against the tile the whole time — reminding him acutely of walking through the library stacks hours ago, pulling an original print edition of _Ulysses_ and _Portrait of the Artist_ for his seminar; he’d thought he’d scored an empty room, had been startled to see a boy he hadn’t known then was Liam curled up in a chair and a loose pair of joggers, scrubbing at his hair under his snapback and humming to himself as he picked away at his composition. Liam hadn’t minded sharing the room at least, hadn’t been fussed when Harry sat across from him.

The room’s in a state when they open the door, just as they left it — both of Harry’s books are spread open, spines facing upwards, his notebook hanging off the edge like it’s about to fall, his satchel wide open. Anyone could’ve stolen his stuff, he wasn’t thinking much when they’d left in a rush for the loo. He’d be concerned maybe, but Liam’s backpack’s upside down on the floor and his folder and papers are scattered across the tabletop too, stray scraps of music notes and bits of melody glinting under the lights from a distance.

Liam starts to laugh, shaking his head at the mess, and Harry joins him quickly. He sets Liam’s backpack right-side-up and crouches to catch Liam’s biro rolling away, hands it over when he just manages to grab it without falling over on his arse. Liam thanks him, his voice going a bit raspy around the vowels, and he returns the favor — closing _Ulysses_ carefully, gently, and sliding it across the table to Harry between gathering his own papers up.

Harry’s got his satchel swung over his shoulder, one of his books held in his hand after deciding he couldn’t fit it in his bag, just as Liam’s shrugging his own backpack on.

“Ready then?” Liam asks, coughing into his fist, bouncing one leg a little; he’s not anxious, but it seems like he wants to get on with it, so Harry nods and casts one last look around the room before following Liam through the door.

There’s a sharp burst of wind when they breach the main entrance, much cooler than when Harry’d first left his flat, and Harry shivers, hunching his shoulders up, surprised despite knowing better, wishing his book was massive enough to protect him the chill.

Liam doesn’t seem to mind as much; he sighs into the air like he’s welcoming it, his breath ghosting up from his mouth like phantom smoke. He does jerk his chin at Harry in acknowledgement though, his teeth gleaming in his smile under the towering lamps they pass, and he asks, “Alright? Cold, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers. “Freezing.” On the next step through the open pathway to the carpark, Harry edges a bit closer to Liam, hoping to borrow some of his body heat, not minding the whiff of musk and sweat and Liam’s aftershave he gets either.

“My truck’s just over there,” Liam tells him quietly, pointing ahead in the dark and Harry looks up to find that Liam’s right — they’re broaching the carpark at least, even if Harry can’t make out any of the cars lined up in the distance, wouldn’t know what Liam’s truck looks like anyway.

It turns out that Liam’s truck’s only a few rows in, and it’s right by a hanging lamp that illuminates the top of it, shining down right over the cab, right over Liam’s head, the brim of his backwards snapback and shoulders and back as he tugs at the driver’s door, pulling hard — Harry can nearly see the muscles in his arms twisting — until it squeaks open, falling slowly out into the night like the hinges are rusted dry. His backpack disappears into the car and he shuffles about on his dash before twisting around and hopping up to sit sideways on his seat between the open door.

He gestures for Harry to come closer with one hand, and then thumps the bottom of the pack into his flat palm, flips it open, so Harry does — gets close in time to see Liam sliding a cigarette out with his teeth, his elbow resting on the inside of the door. Harry’s stood close enough to almost fit into the crook of Liam’s arm. The door blocks out the chill and Liam’s truck’s giving off a wave of heat tangled up alongside that hint of Liam’s aftershave and a fresh clean scent like vanilla or lemon from a car-freshener packet, and Harry can’t exactly help himself.

Liam offers the pack to Harry next, raising his eyebrows in invitation, but Harry shakes his head, says, “That’s alright.”

Liam looks at him for a moment and then shrugs, tosses his pack back onto his dash, and cups his hand around the end of his cigarette, the filter clenched between his teeth, flicking his lighter to life and lighting up. His face gets lit up too from the glow, his pursed mouth and the sharp line of his jaw looking like embers in a fire pit, flashing in a spark. Liam drops his head back at the first inhale, sucking it in deep, his mouth held open so Harry can see the bare outline of the smoke swirling inside. He lets it out in one stream like a sigh and it dissipates around Harry’s face in the cool night air.

Liam relaxes into it like it’s just as easy as breathing, and Harry thinks he catches Liam muttering, “Fuck,” in praise or appreciation once. He doesn’t know how many inhales it’s been — distracted by watching Liam’s mouth purse and open and purse again and again, soothed by the smoke curling around their shoulders and becoming gradually transparent as he’s leaning up against the inside of Liam’s truck door — he’s lost track when Liam inhales again and says, “You know,” his voice choked in his chest from holding it in. Wisps of smoke escape from his nose as he goes on, thoughtful: “Didn’t take you for the smoker type.”

“No?” Harry says distractedly, watching the cherry burn anew from Liam’s next pull. Harry shrugs, “Sometimes I do. With mates, or summat.”

Liam nods, looking down, blowing out towards his feet shuffling on the pavement, his long fingers holding the cigarette at his knee. It’s climbing down to the filter and Harry wonders if Liam will light up another.

Then Liam looks up at him and squints, bringing his hand up to his mouth to take a drag. “We could share,” he says. “We’re friends, right?”

Liam says it like it’s meant to be a laugh, but Harry glances between the cigarette and Liam’s closed mouth and says, “Yeah, alright,” feeling himself sinking into a smile as Liam breathes out and the smoke comes right for Harry.

He’d thought Liam would pass the cigarette over, but instead Liam gestures like he had when Harry’d been standing too far away from his truck and Harry leaves the car door to move closer until he’s angled right into Liam’s space, and he knows before Liam does it, he knows what to do when Liam tilts his face up and brings his hand onto the back of Harry’s neck, drawing him in nearer until their lips almost brush against each other, teasing. Harry opens his mouth for Liam to breathe out into, and Harry’s careful to breathe in.

“Not so harsh this way,” Liam murmurs, not letting Harry go yet, holding his neck still. “If you’re worried about your lungs or summat.”

Harry does his best to blow the smoke down, away from Liam’s eyes and face without taking a step back. “Quite the gentleman,” Harry says, and he only hesitates for a beat before pressing a kiss to Liam’s mouth.

He’s rewarded with Liam grinning at him around the filter in a last, final drag when Harry steps away. Liam offers to share it again, raising his eyebrows, nodding up at Harry, holding his mouth closed, but Harry shakes his head and Liam crushes cigarette out in the pavement with the bottom of his trainer, twisting the ball of his foot in a crunch, and exhales again.

He stands and stretches next, and then asks Harry where his car is. But Harry’s walked to campus, he usually does, it isn’t very far from his flat anyway, and he tells Liam, but Liam looks at him again for a long moment and then laughs and says, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

Harry doesn’t have it in him to say no, and, besides, it’s proper cold out now.

Liam clears off his passenger seat politely for Harry when Harry climbs in, throwing his spare jumper and a duffel bag in the cramped space behind Harry’s seat in the cab, throws his pack — Marlboro Lights, Harry can read the label now — into a cup holder along with his lighter. Liam has to turn his keys in the ignition a few times before the truck roars, but Liam says, shifting around, curling up one leg onto the seat with him, his knee like an elbow rest, similar to how he’d been when Harry first walked in on him, “Don’t mind it, I've just had the ol’ girl for a while, but she's sound,” giving Harry a grin, and Harry flashes one back, not minding at all.


End file.
